


You Can't Save Me

by madam_minnie



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_minnie/pseuds/madam_minnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to save your friends from themselves if you hope to save them at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thrihyrne, Kaci and wolfiekins for being the amazing betas that you are and catching all of my commas and changes in POV. :)

The sound of bone splitting, his jaw exploding in shards of pain, blood, and bone, is nothing to the ache in his chest as he curls within himself and takes his punishment. He had not meant to anger Blaise. He knew better than to fight and knew it was better to let his lover expend his energy than push him off. He clenched his eyes shut and hated himself for the images that played like a Muggle movie behind his eyelids. He didn’t deserve the happiness he saw behind his eyes.

He couldn’t put his best friend through the torture of being with him as he was.

Battered. Beaten. Cowardly.

~*~

Blaise and Harry had been lovers for four years and though Harry believed the beatings would one day stop, he knew Blaise could not control his temper any more than he could quell the desire to be pummeled repeatedly. Since Voldemort’s demise, Harry had chosen to live a life of seclusion and utmost privacy. Both Ron and Hermione agreed to allow him his time away from them especially as he and Blaise began a new life together. His best friends would always be there for him, they assured him.

Their relationship was aggressive at first. They both enjoyed rough play and their lovemaking had grown darker over the years. With each passing year, Blaise’s drinking habits led to increasingly rougher play and a jealous streak that would rival Ginny Weasley’s in its passion. On more than one drunken occasion, Harry had faced the wrath of Blaise’ battering words and fists as he continued to shout out about Harry cheating on him with Ron. Nothing was further from the truth, of course. Harry loved Ron like a brother; he didn’t even think Ron was gay, so any attraction Harry could have for his best mate was simply because he knew it could never come to pass.

Blaise grew more sadistic as his drunken nights blurred from one to the next. He enjoyed seeing how his hands could batter and bruise Harry, ‘marking him’ he would say during one of their play sessions, only to heal the bruises in the morning lest it brought about unwanted questions. Harry and Ron were partners in the Auror Division and, knowing Ron would likely not understand the intensity of their lovemaking, he had always asked Blaise to heal the marks in the mornings. He could, of course, have healed himself at any time, but without permission, Harry would not dare.

“Heal you?” Blaise had asked in the morning. “Heal what?” Harry really believed Blaise didn’t remember their night before until Blaise turned, wielding Harry’s wand and casting a healing charm on the bruises along Harry’s arms, legs, and face.

“Don’t want anyone to know you’re mine?” he’d asked, nuzzling Harry’s neck.

“Do you really want me to explain those to Randle?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms around Blaise’s neck.

“Could be fun to rattle the old codger,” Blaise had laughed. “Your lieutenant needs a little spice in his life,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows.

They’d made love passionately, almost lovingly as Blaise mouthed, kissed, and licked every inch of Harry’s healed skin. He’d kiss an area that had formerly housed a bruise and apologize for his mistreatment of ‘this perfect body.’

“You’re damn near beautiful,” he’d whisper just before devouring Harry’s cock. Fisting the sheets, Harry'd thrust his hips forward and buried himself in Blaise’s warm mouth. As he came, he could feel the words in the back of his mind, but could never utter them. He wanted to tell Blaise he loved him, he just could never bring himself to speak the words out loud.

One particular morning, however, Blaise had left early for work and had forgotten to wake Harry or release him from the cage he’d housed him in all night. He was being punished for speaking with Anthony Goldstein in a flirtatious manner, Blaise had said. Harry was mortified when he was forced to mirror-call Ron to help him escape the cage that morning. Ron had been a good friend and not said a word as he unlocked the cage and helped Harry into the loo. Ron waited while Harry washed up, a fist in his mouth muffling his cries as the hot water sluiced down his battered back. He didn’t want Ron to see him this way, but he had no choice. Blaise had taken Harry’s wand that morning, by mistake, Harry was sure of it. Though he had grown better at casting wandless magic, his body was too tired to summon even the weakest of spells.

  
They flooed into the Ministry atrium and made their way toward the lifts. Ron normally took the stairs from the atrium to his office in the second level, but thinking that Harry would be in no condition to take the stairs, he opted for the lift.

“I’ll meet you in the office,” Harry said quickly, extending a hand out to stop Ron from entering the lift. The last thing Harry needed was for Blaise to see him exit the lift with Ron Weasley in tow. He didn’t meet Ron’s gaze as the lift doors closed and concentrated instead on the scuffmark on the toe of his left boot.

As a lead investigator with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Blaise was sitting at his desk reading a report from the Invisibility Task Force when Harry cleared his throat.

“Harry!” Blaise exclaimed, his eyes wide. He stood quickly and rounded the desk much faster than Harry expected, but backed away when Harry winced and flinched. He walked carefully around Harry and closed the door behind him then leaned back against the door. “Come here,” he whispered.

Harry turned slowly. He wanted to disobey, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t NOT do as he was told.

“I forgot, didn’t I?” Blaise said quietly, his hand slowly caressing Harry’s bruised cheek. “You came in looking like this anyway?” Harry looked up when he recognized not sorrow, but pride in Blaise’ voice. He was proud that Harry came in wearing his bruises.

“If Randle sees me like this…” Harry said quietly, his eyes now fixed on his boot once more.

“Has anyone else seen you like this?” Blaise asked tugging Harry’s chin up to look at him. Harry wanted to lie and knowing what Blaise was capable of, knowing that if he said Ron knew…

“No,” he lied.

Blaise brought his lips down on Harry’s and kissed him deeply, his fingers threaded through Harry’s unruly hair. Turning them around, he pinned Harry to the door. He lifted Harry’s hands above his head and held them there with one hand as he unbuttoned Harry’s shirt.

“You escaped your cage all by yourself?” he asked trailing kisses and bites down Harry’s chest. When Harry remained quiet, he bit down on Harry’s nipple hard and hissed, “Don’t lie to me, Harry!” He cupped Harry through his trousers and squeezed him hard. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Harry bit his lip as the tears threatened to spill from behind his glasses. He had to protect Ron, he couldn’t let Blaise know. “No,” he rasped. “Please,” he moaned and pushed his hips forward into Blaise’ hand. If he distracted him with sex, he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. He wouldn’t have to feel so filthy… if sex is what it took… “Please,” he begged.

“Such a good little whore you are, Harry.” Blaise released Harry’s hands and ordered him to bend over the desk. The last thing Harry heard before feeling Blaise’ hands on his hips was the zip of his flies being lowered as Blaise roughly pushed his own trousers down. Spitting on his erection, Blaise drove himself into Harry without warning or preparation. Aching muscles, sore from sleeping in a fetal position inside a metal cage all night, were now screaming and spasming as Blaise throttled Harry’s body with fast, deep thrusts. Harry fought against the need to come as his eyes dueled with their need to cry.

  
He walked into his office without a word. His robes were clean, shirt as neatly pressed as his trousers, and the bruises that had mottled his skin in the morning were now a distant memory. A memory that Ron would not be able to shake off, Harry knew. He could Obliviate him but he lacked the strength to do it and though he knew it was wrong, he also knew that allowing Ron to believe the worst of Blaise was more wrong than his breaking a few laws. So he made up his mind to Obliviate Ron during lunch, but his Lieutenant ended up shattering that idea with a mission.

“Potter, Weasley,” Lieutenant Randle barked into the Auror office. “In here, now!”

Ron and Harry exchanged looks, each asking silently if the other knew what this was about. Shrugging, Ron led the way to the Lieutenant’s office and leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles. Ron had always been tall, but in recent years, he’d added weight training to his daily workout routine and was now an impressive wall of rippling, freckled muscle. His biceps strained against the long sleeves of his button-down Oxford and Harry could not help but notice that he filled out his trousers rather nicely as well. Twirling his wand, Ron waited for Lieutenant Randle to look up from the map he was studying while Harry sat in the lone chair in front of his supervisor’s desk.

Their mission was a simple one: reconnaissance. Several artifacts had been confiscated by the Muggle Artifacts Office in a Muggle neighbourhood near Kent the night before. Harry and Ron were to pose as Muggle police officers and investigate the home for traces of a magical signature. Unfortunately, simple missions like this meant they would have time to talk. Harry couldn’t bring himself to even look Ron in the eye, much less talk… Ron wouldn’t understand. Ron SHOULDN’T understand. He was happy and he should remain that way.

Harry didn’t wait for Ron as they headed to the Disapparition point behind the Ministry, nor did he wait for him when they arrived in the alleyway behind the two-story building they would be investigating. He just wanted to do his job, get the day over with and return home without having to talk to Ron about anything he’d seen that morning. Obliviation was out of the question now. They were surrounded by Muggle police, who had been called when a neighbour reported a ‘break-in’ the night before.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Ron said, standing behind Harry to shield the Muggle’s view from what Harry was doing with his wand over a pagan altar they found in one of the bedrooms.

Harry ignored him and continued to run his wand around the small figurines, pagan symbols and ‘witch’s brew’ he found. No signature. Muggles pretending to be wizards, nothing more. Had that been all they found, Harry would have been happy to return to the office and spend the rest of the afternoon filling out paperwork. Unfortunately, they found a cage inside a wardrobe housing a dog with a forked tail that was currently quiet but would soon bark ferociously as soon as one of the Muggle police officers came over to see what they’d found.

“Is that a Crup?” Ron asked then swore when Harry nodded slowly.

“What the… They locked their dog in the wardrobe while they went out on holiday?” the Muggle police officer asked, then backed away as the Jack Russell terrier lunged for the bars, trying to tear through the Muggle.

“Harry,” Ron hissed. “Crups don’t like Muggles.” He pressed a button on his lapel and pretended to contact Animal Services. “We have a Level Three, rabid dog. I repeat a Level Three,” Ron said as Harry tried to shoo the Muggle police officer out of the room.

Harry and Ron stepped aside as Cuthbert Mockridge from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures suddenly appeared in the doorway. He presented a badge from Animal Services saying he was in the area and heard the police scanner regarding a rabid dog. No one thought it odd that he was wearing a cloak or that he had long black rubber gloves. He nodded at Harry and Ron and made his way to the wardrobe, but whispered at Harry that Blaise was on his way.

“What?” Harry hissed.

“Invisibility Squad was put on alert and he heard you and Weasley had reported to the scene.”

“Shit,” Harry cursed. “I’m on the job, he can’t have a problem with…” His words died in his throat as Blaise strode in with a group of wizards, including Obliviators. Their eyes met and Harry could feel the anger rise in waves from Ron who was now standing beside him, his wand clenched at his side. Blaise nodded to both Ron and Harry and went to work, speaking calmly with the Muggles. He was good at his job, Harry had to hand it to him. He played the part of a finessed and smooth-talking Inspector coming to assess the situation. As he would shake hands with the various Muggle police officers, an Obliviator behind the Muggle would do his work, allowing Ron and Harry to disappear along with the other wizards unnoticed.

Once back at the office, Ron rounded on Harry.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Ron growled.

“And you said I didn’t have to, so let’s drop it.” Harry made to walk around Ron, but Ron took hold of Harry’s wrist much too fast, causing Harry to wince.

Ron’s eyes widened and he let go of Harry’s wrist. “How long?”

“Please, Ron. Not now,” Harry whispered. His throat was dry, his hands were clammy and he wanted to run but didn’t think his legs would carry him.

“I’ve stayed quiet. I haven’t interfered because I thought… Harry I can’t help you if you don’t…”

“I don’t want your help!” Harry roared and stormed from the office. He ran to the men’s and washed his face in the sink, avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror. He had stopped looking in the mirror long ago. He heard the door open and the lock click before he turned to see a very angry, very red-faced Ron Weasley standing with fists clenched at his sides.

“You want me to pretend that what I saw this morning never happened? Fine, I don’t want to, but for you I’ll do anything. But I can’t keep letting you get hurt!” Ron’s voice rumbled against the tile wall.

“I’m fine,” Harry lied, swallowing against the bile that was now rising in his throat.

“Are you? Because you’re looking rather thin and haggard to me. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re skin and bones! When was the last time you trained?” He took a step forward and Harry flinched. “And what the hell is that? Since when does Harry Potter flinch?”

“It doesn’t concern you, Ron. Just let it go.” Harry tried to push past Ron but Ron held his ground and wrapped an arm around Harry’s chest, bringing him toward him in a giant bear hug.

“Anything that happens to you, concerns me.”

Harry closed his eyes and bit back the pain that rose in his chest as Ron whispered those words against his ear. “Anything that happens to you,” he said again, this time hugging Harry tighter. “Why do you trust someone who only hurts you when you have me?”

Harry’s world came crashing down on him, his legs gave out and he curled in on himself and cried. He clutched Ron’s sleeve as he knelt down and Harry almost curled on his lap. “You can’t… You can’t save me,” Harry cried. “Not this time… please… I can’t… I can’t ask…”

“You don’t have to,” Ron whispered, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “You never have to ask.”

Summoning a roll of loo paper, Ron portkeyed them to his flat and sat Harry on the sofa. Realising where he was, Harry’s eyes widened in fear and he stumbled back, shaking his head. "No, no," he mouthed over and over.

“Take me back. Take me back, Ron! You can’t… he’ll find… take me back, take me back now!” he screamed, looking around the flat frantically for the door.

“He can’t hurt you here, Harry.”

“You don’t know… Ron he’ll find me and I don’t…”

“Stay here,” Ron said, handing Harry a potion. “Take this. The flat is warded and under a Fidelius. Unless he can find which tomb Hermione’s working on in Egypt, he won’t be able to find it.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, cupping the brew with shaking hands.

“Just need to pick up a few things,” he replied, and winking, he quickly stepped through the door. He portkeyed back to the men’s and made his way to Blaise Zabini’s office. His career be damned, he wasn’t going to let Blaise hurt Harry one more minute. If Hermione were around, she’d agree with him, he was sure of it.

~*~

“You no-good, smarmy, motherfucking bastard!” Ron roared as he barreled through Blaise’s door.

“Do come in Weasley,” Blaise replied from behind his desk. “I’m not sure what this is about, but I can assure you that I never fucked my mother nor was my father missing from my life.”

Ron advanced on the smaller man, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the chair.

“You beat the shit out of him and he still loves you,” Ron growled.

“Ah so this is about Harry. Jealous?”

“Of what you have? Yes! Of you? Never!” he threw Blaise down and cast a locking charm on the door, reinforcing it with a silencing spell. “This is just between you and me.”

“He begs me for it,” Blaise spat. “Did he tell you that?” He stood, brushing soot from his trousers where he’d landed near the fireplace in his office. “He likes it rough and knows you’ll never be man enough to do it.”

Ron’s eyes widened and his breath hitched.

“You didn’t know, did you?” Blaise questioned with a smile. “Please! Tell me you’re not this daft, Weasley! You never noticed that your best mate was in love with you?” He threw his head back and laughed as his words sucker-punched Ron with their truth. He’d been so busy protecting Harry, he’d never really ‘looked’ at Harry. The thought of being with him didn’t scare him like he thought it should.

“But you wouldn’t know, of course. You’re not a pouf like Harry, are you?” He closed the distance between them and eyed Ron from head to foot. “Though I could see why he’d want to suck your cock. He talks in his sleep, did you know?”

Ron stood his ground. His wand was still clenched at his side, but he made no move toward Blaise yet. He wanted to hear this. As perverse as it sounded, he needed to hear it.

“Does he?” Ron asked, his eyes on Blaise.

“'Oh Ron'… he’d moan,” Blaise said with disgust. “Every night for weeks, he’d talk about you in his sleep, begging you to fuck him, to let him suck on you. I had to put a stop to all his night babbling or I was never going to get any sleep!” he roared. “I woke him one night, with my cock shoved down his throat. He’s a great cocksucker.” His head snapped back as Ron’s fist came crashing down on his nose. Blood gushed from his nose and tears were glistening in his eyes when he looked at Ron again.

“You’re going to break up with him,” Ron growled. He lifted Blaise and threw him against the wall, enjoying the way his head made a nice thick thudding sound against the stone fireplace.

“I’m done with him anyway,” he spat, sending blood and spit at Ron’s shoes. “I was going to have him walk in on Michael sucking me off in our bed.”

“Fucking bastard!” Ron kicked him in the kneecap and punched the side of his face as Blaise went down hard on the stone floor. “Leave him already!”

“He’s mine,” Blaise laughed, wiping blood from his lip. “He may dream of fucking you, but he wakes with my cock buried deep in his tight, little arse.”

The barrage of punches, kicks and hexes that Ron inflicted on Blaise lasted a good thirty minutes, leaving blood spattered along the floor, walls and furniture of Blaise’ office. Hissing against Blaise’ lips he handed him parchment and a quill.

“You’re going to write what I tell you to write,” he barked. “Tell him it’s over. That you never want to see him again.” When Blaise finished writing the short sentences on the parchment, Ron broke his fingers and left him in his office, panting, bloody and broken.

“Now you know what it feels like,” he said, storming toward the door. “If you ever come near him again or if I hear of you trying to contact him for any reason, you’ll never be seen or head from ever again.”

Dropping the wards, he strode out of the office, cleaned up his bloody knuckles in the men’s and portkeyed to Blaise and Harry’s… no… Blaise’ flat. Gathering all of Harry’s belongings, he shrank them and stuffed them in his pockets before Apparating outside his flat. He gripped the handle for a while, his knuckles white with rage. He’d never let anyone hurt Harry again… and he would save Harry… even if he had to save him from himself.


	2. It's Over

Ron paced outside the closed door of his flat, clutching his wand and wishing Hermione were within Flooing distance for last-minute advice. How was he going to explain to Harry that this would be for the best? How battered was Harry and how much would he need to be prepared for? He raked his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath and decided he would take it a day at a time. There was nothing else for it. Tapping the door handle with his wand, he turned the knob and entered the flat.

~*~

Harry's eyes continued to dart toward the fireplace and he nervously paced back and forth on the hearthrug, biting his fingernails and thinking of ways to apologise to Blaise for his indiscretion. He would surely be late to dinner and that would mean more punishment. He'd face it; there would be nothing else he could do. If Blaise learned that Harry was with Ron… he shuddered at what Blaise would do and stopped in front of the fireplace, where his gaze caught a moving picture of Ron and Hermione sitting on either side of him at The Burrow.

They were happy and smiling; each of them had an arm draped over Harry's shoulders as Fred took the picture. Hermione had rested her head on Harry's shoulder, and Ron would look appraisingly at them before turning his head toward the camera and smiling widely. The Harry in the picture smiled too and Harry could remember that he was happy that day. The war was over, his best friends were alive, and they were happy. What had changed?

The door opened and Harry whirled around, wand outstretched as Ron quickly threw his hands up.

"S'okay mate, it's just me," he tapped the door with his wand and tucked it in his back pocket before heading into the kitchen. "You hungry?"

Harry's heart was hammered in his throat. He had to get out of here and back home before Blaise did. He'd been afraid Ron had gone and done something stupid like try to talk to Blaise, or worse…

"Er… no, I…" he stepped meekly into the kitchen and swallowed audibly when he found Ron in the kitchen downing a cold butterbeer in almost one giant gulp. "I should get home," he whispered.

He meant to walk toward the front door, but his feet would not carry him away from Ron's kitchen. Ron had managed to make his kitchen warm and inviting. The warm hues in the kitchen, the mismatched chairs around the small oak table in the eat-in nook, and lace curtains in the windows seemed completely out of place in a bachelor pad. Hermione must have left her mark before leaving for Egypt, he thought briefly.

"Want one?" Ron asked holding a frosted butterbeer bottle toward Harry.

"I really should be heading home," Harry repeated and Ron continued to hold the bottle out for Harry to take. When Harry didn't make a motion to take the bottle, Ron sighed, setting it on the table and sinking down heavily on the chair.

"Why don't you sit down mate?" Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck.

What the hell was Ron doing? Harry had to get home and Ron wanted to chitchat?

"Can we do this another time? I really need to get going." Blaise was going to be furious!

"Stay," Ron said as Harry turned toward the front door then stopped. "You… you should stay… let everything blow over."

~*~

Ron watched as Harry turned slowly, his eyebrows furrowed and his chest rising as he took a steadying breath.

"Let _what_ blow over?" Harry asked apprehensively. "What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Ron asked, tilting the chair back on its hindlegs. "It's over, Harry. You're safe."

Harry's eyes widened and he stumbled back toward the door. "_What_ did you do, Ron?" he shook his head and yelled, "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" The door rattled on its hinges and Ron slowly set his chair back on all fours before taking a bit of parchment from his jean pocket and placing it on the table.

"Calm down, Harry. I went to see…" Ron stammered and Harry flung himself at the parchment on the table.

"What is… what did you…" His eyes scanned the parchment frantically and when he met Ron's gaze, his eyes burned with rage. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?"

"He broke up with you… in a letter, no less, and you're angry with me?" Ron asked, his face twisted in suppressed anger.

"You forced him to break up with me?" Harry lunged at Ron and met air as Ron stood quickly and set the chair toppling away from him. "He wouldn't have… is this blood? What did you do to him? Is this because of this morning? I told you it was a mistake, you didn't have to… is he okay? What did you do to him?"

Ron's rage erupted. He kicked the toppled chair out of his way, standing his ground. "A mistake? The bruises are a mistake? Him locking you in a fucking cage like some animal was a mistake? He fucking beats the shit out of you and you blame me for it!" Ron spatthrowing his hands up in the air, he stalked away from the kitchen and slammed the door to his bedroom. Clearly he needed to be more patient if he was going to get through to Harry.

~*~

As Ron's door slammed, Harry's breath hitched, his body crumping to the floor in utter defeat. He clutched the parchment with Blaise's neat handwriting on it.

_"It's over. Have your things out by this evening. — Blaise"_

Harry's sobs wracked his body as he held the note against his chest. Blaise had thrown him away like a bit of rubbish and, as cold and impersonal as Harry knew him to be, he couldn't believe he'd leave him like this. Not in a note. Not without saying… did he really expect him to say it? He'd never once uttered those words… why would he say it to him in parting? But… he had felt that way about him once… hadn't he? Harry's stomach hurt. He wrapped his arms around himself and doubled over as his tears ran down his face.

Harry rocked back and forth crying louder and louder as the realisation that his relationship with Blaise was over sank in deeper and deeper. He heard the door open, felt the footsteps approach… then howled against the warm neck of his best friend as Ron's arms enveloped him and held him. It was over, he was safe and yet… he didn't want it to be over. What was wrong with him?

~*~

Ron held Harry protectively to him until his body stopped quivering and his sobs stopped. He wasn't sure what he would do next but it didn't matter. His best mate was hurting and as much as he didn't understand how he could be crying over the smarmy bastard, he couldn't NOT be here… holding him… telling him everything would be all right. He would worry about what to do next at a later time. Right now, his best friend needed him.


	3. Dawning Realisation

Harry woke to the smell of bacon and the sound of eggs frying. His eyes burned and his head felt heavy and throbbed slightly, but the rest of his body was free of aches and pains… a first for him in three years. He turned his head and found himself in Ron's bedroom… in Ron's bed… he buried his face in the pillow inhaling Ron's scent, letting it wash over him. He'd fallen asleep in Ron's arms last night and the sheets still held the warm, comforting embrace his best friend had given him last night.

Bringing the sheets up to his face, he remembered a moment from a time long ago when he found himself in Ron's bed, lying in his arms and feeling safe.

> _He lay shaking, his sweat-covered body shivering against his best mate’s as he recounted the nightmare of Voldemort raising his wand against his Mum and… and her scream… her scream that wouldn't stop. He'd run toward her, trying desperately to push her away from the Killing Curse, but he would always get there too late. Too late.
> 
> "It's all right mate," Ron said, rubbing his lips against Harry's forehead. "I've got you. Everything's alright now." He wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly as Harry's trembling stopped and he was able to turn over and sleep again. He spooned Harry's back and held him the entire night, waking once to fetch him some water and once to kiss his shoulder when Harry started shaking in his sleep again.
> 
> _

"Hungry?" Ron asked from the doorway, his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips and his hair still mussed from sleep.

Harry nodded and watched Ron turn and disappear from the doorway, feeling ashamed for the sudden stirring in his pajama bottoms. Sitting up gingerly, he adjusted himself before walking into the loo. There really was nothing for it, his cock woke earlier than he did and he reckoned it didn't particularly care where he was or the details of the situation.

It wanted relief.

Unfortunately, his bladder dueled with the same need for relief and it won out, but just barely. Carefully positioning himself to avoid spraying Ron's hand towels above the toilet, he spread his legs slightly and pulled his cock out over his pajamas. He aimed his semi-erect prick down and threw his head back as he relieved himself.

His bladder empty, he assumed his cock would lose interest. Unfortunately, when he tucked himself back in, he still noted a rather pronounced tenting in his pajama bottoms.

Peeking out of the bathroom door, he heard Ron in the kitchen and decided it was best to just have a quick pull before breakfast rather than embarrass himself in front of Ron. It wasn't that Ron hadn't seen him hard before, but it was awkward. Harry knew it wasn't because he was in love with his best mate; it just happens, he reminded himself. But as he lowered his pajamas just below his hips, his heavy cock springing free, the only image that came to mind as he slid his hand back and forth was that of Ron in those low-riding pajama bottoms, framed by firelight in the doorway.

The friction wasn't quite right, so after licking his palm, he wrapped his hand around his cock. Thrusting his hips slowly, he jerked his cock, thumb teasing the head slightly as his breath hitched and his heart raced. He watched the head peek through the foreskin, his mouth falling slightly open, his pace steadily increasing. The heat in the pit of his belly grew until he could no longer stand it, and furiously pistoning his hips, he worked feverishly toward his release. The light sloshing sounds seemed to echo in the small room and licking his hand once more, he bit his lip and threw his head back as the slick warmth around his prick heightened the sensation.

With a barely audible whisper of _'Ron, oh gods, Ron,'_ Harry came.

~*~

Standing in the doorway, Ron heard his name moaned in ecstasy. Willing his own erection away, he slipped back into the kitchen and called Harry to breakfast.

  
They ate in silence though Ron opened his mouth several times to strike up conversation only to close it again when Harry looked up only to avert his gaze when their eyes met. Not good, Ron thought. Harry needs time… and space… It didn't matter how badly he wanted to kiss him right now, or how many times he'd fought the urge in the middle of the night to caress Harry's body, or how good… and right, his mind reminded him, Harry's body felt pressed against his. Shaking himself from his reverie, Ron banished the dishes to the sink. Once he'd set them to wash themselves, he was surprised when he heard a pecking against the window.

"Is that Lt. Randle's owl?" Harry asked, standing to let the tawny owl in. "I thought you said there was a Fidelius on the flat," he added, taking the parchment from the owl's leg.

"There is," Ron replied while leaning against the counter, a teacup in his hand. "Randle's and Hermione's owls are the only ones who can get through. I don't know how, but Hermione was able to do it. What's the letter say?"

"The magical signatures found at the house in Kent are inconclusive," Harry replied, reading from the parchment. "We're being sent on a mission."

"Brilliant!" Ron said, flashing a smile. "Where do we have to go?" He walked over to Harry and, looking over his shoulder, he read the missive aloud in a low tone, his breath hot against Harry's cheek.

~*~

"Back to Kent it seems," Harry breathed. "Property was recently purchased, but ownership information is still being processed by the Ministry." His heart was beating in his chest now and he could feel a blush creeping in. Ron's body was nearly pressed against him again and his scent… his scent was driving Harry mad.

"We… we need to report to the office," Harry stammered.

"For the files," Ron breathed against his neck, and Harry swayed. "You alright mate?" Ron seized Harry's hips and Harry's eyes rolled back in his head.

"This is not going to work," he murmured as Ron turned him around.

"What's not going to work?" Ron asked, looking into Harry's eyes.

"This," Harry whispered, "I… I can't be this close… and not…"

Ron didn't know if what he was about to do was a good idea or not but his mind didn't seem to care either way as he leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry's, his eyes opened.

"S'okay, Harry," he muttered just before tugging on Harry's lower lip, kissing and nibbling it before sweeping his tongue against Harry's.

Harry's moan urged Ron further, pulling Harry flush against him, his hardening cock pressed against Harry's belly. As his hands slid down Harry's back, their mouths dueling in an open-mouthed kiss, Harry shoved him away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We can't," he gasped, his eyes wide with fear.

"Wha-? What's the ma-?"

"I just can't," Harry said, running back into Ron's room and slamming the door shut.

This mission was going to be much more difficult than Ron thought. And he really hoped he hadn't just bollixed things up with Harry.


	4. When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble

Before they could report to Kent for evidence-gathering, they were to be debriefed by Lt. Randle. Awkwardly, the pair stepped into the fireplace and Flooed into the Ministry's Auror Department. The special grates had been added after Voldemort's return to allow Ministry personnel an escape route should the Ministry fall under attack.

Ron knocked on the door to Lt. Randle's office and waited for Harry to step inside before closing it behind him.

Lieutenant Randle sat at his desk, his wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose as he examined the parchment before him. His small office was littered with maps, parchment, flying memos above his head and several lanterns that could have used more oil but never seemed to get any.

Not one to cut to the chase, Lt. Randle quickly got to business.

"Take a look at that and tell me what you see," he said handing Harry the parchment in his hand.

"It's a Real Estate contract. Looks like a standard Muggle contract. Hang on, is this the house we went to in Kent?" He asked looking up to meet the lieutenant's gaze. "It wasn't for sale when we were there, was it?"

"I don't know, Potter. Was it?" Lt Randle steepled his fingers and gave Harry an appraising look. "Seems to me that you would have included that tidbit of information in your report."

"But we didn't get to file our report," Ron piped in and the lieutenant's piercing gaze shifted toward Ron.

"And why is that, Weasley?"

"Blaise Zabini showed up and…"

Randle turned his gaze on Harry who couldn't find a way to look his boss in the eye.

"And suddenly this assignment is out of your jurisdiction, is that right?" the Lieutenant asked. Harry could still feel his gaze on him. "Did either of you question anyone before his thugs went wand-happy?" When both shook their heads, Randle pounded his fist on the desk, making Harry flinch.

"Potter, I know he's your… special friend and all, but he can NOT just waltz into a scene, in the middle of an investigation and fuck up the case!"

Harry said nothing. The words 'special friend' hung in the air like a thick fog. Though homosexuality was not frowned upon in the Wizarding world, it was yet to be publicly acknowledged. It was still a subculture and even among his fellow Aurors, Harry knew better than to openly proclaim his homosexuality. Besides, Blaise was now no more his 'special friend' than Ron was. That thought snapped his thoughts back to the present and he quickly glanced up at Ron's face.

"We did find a Crup at the scene…" Ron said.

"But you didn't search the premises, you didn't question any of the Muggle police or neighbours. Did you do ANYTHING at the scene?" Randle roared. "Potter! Are you with us?"

"I'm sorry sir, yes. This group listed in the Real Estate contract," Harry replied quickly. "Does anyone know if they're a legitimate group?"

Any property purchased by wizards in a Muggle community was often listed as owned by a make-believe organisation which was listed as the property owner in all Muggle records. Wizarding records listed the Muggle organisation as well as the wizard name. This particular listing however, did not have any Wizarding affiliation and the Muggle organisation was not a recognizable one.

"According to Shacklebolt, this particular organisation is a conglomerate of business owners in the adult industry. They own several men's clubs including a bathhouse. Why Muggles feel the need to have a particular house for baths, I will never understand," Randle replied.

Harry coughed and Ron gave him a quizzical look.

"We'll start there," Ron said then turned to leave.

"Weasley, a word please," Randle said as Harry stepped through the open door. "Potter, don't stray too far, I'll need to speak with you as well."

Harry waited outside the closed door pausing slightly to meet Ron's gaze briefly before stepping out of the small office.

  
~*~

"Have a seat, Weasley," Randle said standing to walk around the desk and lean against it. In the small office, he was too close for Ron's comfort and it made him fidgety. "I hear Zabini's nose was rearranged."

"Was it?" Ron asked matter-of-factly, his gaze permanently fixed on the quill on Randle's desk.

"Apparently his ribs suffered greatly as well. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that do you?" Randle crossed his arms and Ron's palms grew sweaty. He could be fired for striking another Ministry employee, and one in Blaise's position could earn him a trip to Azkaban.

"It's not my business to know what Zabini gets up to, sir."

Randle shifted so he could lean forward and calmly he addressed Ron. "I'm only going to say this once Weasley: get your temper under control, or you'll find yourself checking wands and cauldron bottoms for the rest of your life. He fortunately decided against pressing charges, but his involvement in our current case puts you in a very precarious position."

"Yes sir," Ron complied.

"If we lose the opportunity to…"

"I get it, sir," Ron replied then winced at his tone. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Do you?" Randle sighed. "You're an outstanding Auror, Weasley and your partner needs you more than you know."

"Harry?" Ron asked his head snapping up. "Is… is everything… I mean, what about Harry?"

"You and I both know that he's not the Potter that took down You-Know-Who and I don't know why, but he's lost his nerve," Randle confided.

Ron wondered that about his best mate as well, but he simply nodded and stood to leave. He had opened the door slightly when Lt. Randle spoke again.

"I hear Granger's scheduled to return in two weeks," he said suggestively. "Must have you two over for dinner again."

"She is?"

Randle laughed and stepped around his desk again to sit down.

"Oops! I hope she doesn't hex me for ruining the surprise. So act surprised when she shows up okay?" When Ron just stood there staring at him, Randle added. "Funding fell through," he said with a shrug. "It happens."

"Right," Ron said opening the door and nodding to Harry.

"Hermione's coming home?" Harry asked.

"Seems so," Ron answered. It was almost a relief that Hermione was coming home, maybe she could tell him what to do about Harry--of course she could, that's what Hermione did best.

"That's great!" Harry said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Harry," Ron said reaching for Harry's wrist as Lieutenant Randle called Harry in.

~*~

  
The words _Hermione's coming home_ were still ringing in his ears when Lt. Randle had him close the door. He wished he could muster some joy or even excitement at the news of Hermione's return. It was as if he didn't feel anything any longer. This strange sort or apathy had settled over him. He felt foreign in his own skin, he couldn't get a handle on his thoughts they just scattered about him like leaves in the wind. The determination and drive he felt after Dumbledore's death seemed to have fled from him after the defeat of Voldemort and he just didn't feel anything any longer. It was as if he had served his purpose and now--it didn't matter what happened to him. He just didn't care.

"Potter!" _Snape!_ Harry's head snapped up and he stood quickly wand outstretched.

"Whoa, Potter! Put the wand down," Lt. Randle said, hands up. "Put it down," he added calmly.

Harry looked down at his hand, his eyes wide and his heart hammering against his ribcage. He wanted to put the wand down, but his body would not cooperate. Fear, mixed with concern etched the lines of Randle's face … and slowly, his gaze fixed on Lt. Randle's brown eyes, Harry lowered his wand and sat back down on the chair behind him.

He should apologize, he thought as Lt. Randle spoke.

"Maybe we should…"

"I can look into the bathhouse," Harry said quickly knowing that if Lt. Randle finished his sentence, Harry's Auror career could end in a few short words. Or it could be worse, his boss could say…

"Shacklebolt would like you to see Healer Martin for a psychiatric evaluation."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, slouching in his chair. _This wasn't happening_, he kept thinking. He just needed to… needed to what…?

He shook his head, not knowing what else he could do or say to convince Lt. Randle otherwise.

"I told him I would take it into advisement," Lt. Randle added. "But you're not giving me much to work with Potter and you do need to talk to someone. Anyone."

He paused, leaning forward in his chair behind the desk and lacing his fingers together. "Maybe a friend?"

When Harry met his gaze, Lt. Randle nodded toward the door. "I can stall Kingsley for a week, but if you make one more mistake…"

"I'll look into the bathhouse, sir." Harry stood and turned to the door. "And thank you, sir."

When he opened the door, he walked past Ron and summoned his cloak.


	5. Disenchanted

Harry didn’t speak to Ron for the rest of the day after meeting with Lt. Randle, spending most of his time exercising and scanning maps of the Kent area. When it was time for bed, Ron quietly summoned fresh linens and after enlarging Hermione’s bed fell quickly asleep. Images of Harry in various states of undress peppered his dreams, their one kiss replaying itself throughout the night. Needless to say, he woke with a very pronounced tenting in his pajama bottoms and his sheets kicked off of the bed.

He laid in bed a while, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, hands behind his head hoping and waiting for his morning erection to dissipate enough to allow him to walk to the loo. When nothing changed after five minutes, he sighed and palmed his crotch. Stroking himself through the thin fabric, his thoughts wandered to Harry and their shared kiss. His body reacted immediately to the pliant lips, the soft, supple lips and velvet tongue that caressed his own. Stroking himself from base to tip through the small opening in his pajama bottoms, he let his imagination go and settled into a slow rhythm. He imagined Harry walking into the room, watching him stroke his length and settle between his legs before wrapping those warm lips around the head of his weeping prick. He stifled a moan at the image and shut his eyes tight as he tightened his grip on the thick shaft, his hips moving to slide the hot, meaty length through his fist. The dark pink nub peeking through the foreskin just as Harry would lick the slit and send that spark of electricity up his spine, drawing his balls to his body and making his back arch. He pumped his cock faster, feeling the orgasm build, hot and heavy at the base of his spine.

Pushing his pajama bottoms down to his ankles, he spread his legs and fondled his balls as he watched his cock slide through his fingers, the head slowly leaking. Groaning, he circled his hole with his middle finger and hissed Harry’s name as he pumped faster. "Shit… yes… fuck me… fuck me Harry… fuck me…" his litany grew faster as his hips bucked against the bed and as the light exploded behind his lids, he stifled the need to shout Harry’s name as he coated his bare stomach.

Panting, he licked his hand and lay in bed until his breathing returned to normal. He knew he had to do something about his feelings for Harry soon. But as he washed up in Hermione’s en suite, he tried not to think about how he was going to get past telling Harry about Hermione’s arrival and didn’t hear the bedroom door creak closed.

In the kitchen, Ron listened to Hermione's Ministry missive as he finished preparing breakfast. Hermione was scheduled to arrive by Portkey at 6:33 that evening and while he found the self-reading notes useful as they allowed him to continue working as Hermione blathered on in the background. Today, he hated their ability to announce that his former roommate and girlfriend was returning—He especially hated that Harry was hearing every single word. Ron hadn't found the right time to tell Harry that he and Hermione had split up. Partly, because of their case but mostly because he wasn't ready to answer the question—_Why did you break up? _ He could only hope Harry would figure it out after the snog they'd shared the day before.

"Would you like cream with your coffee?" Ron asked Harry turning to pour the brew into the Snitch coffee mug he'd bought several months before.

"No thanks," Harry replied heading for the door. "Going for a run, I'll see you back at the office at ten."

Ron stared at Harry's back as the raven-haired man sprinted for it. "Sure," he said quietly. "I'll see you then, I guess." He added cream and sugar to the coffee and stared at the swirling brew. Well, at least Harry knew when Hermione was scheduled to arrive.

~*~

Harry pulled his hoodie over his head as he ran out through alley behind Ron’s flat. He couldn’t afford to be recognized and if Blaise came looking for him and saw him leave from Ron’s building… he shuddered at the thought and found, for the first time, he wasn’t aroused at the prospect of a punishment session with his former lover. Harry turned the corner and cast a Disillusionment charm before emerging from the alleyway and jogging toward the city.

Hermione’s missive kept replaying in his head, and it warred with the kiss he and Ron shared in the kitchen. Harry never intended to come between Ron and Hermione. If he stayed with Ron, he would eventually come between them. Ron… Ron was just missing Hermione and that's why they'd wound up kissing… At least that's what Harry kept telling himself—Ron was definitely not a pouf and Harry couldn't pretend to be straight. He'd hate himself if his two best friends, one whom he loved like a sister and the other… well he'd hate himself if they split up because of him.

He knew he needed a place of his own. He couldn't go back to Blaise because that was never his place to begin with and he wasn't safe there. Harry breathed heavily as his feet hit the pavement, the dull echo of his heartbeat ringing in his ears, and he wracked his brain trying to figure out where he could go. He wanted to be safe and hidden—from what he didn't know. There was only one place he could go—Grimmauld Place.

Harry passed several shops and boutiques opening up for the day’s business and continued to run at a steady pace until he heard the distinct ‘pop’ of Apparition nearby. Wizards and witches were known to Apparate to areas they confused for wizarding ones in the Muggle world, but sometimes, these occurrences were deliberate; mostly by those former Death Eaters who believed themselves above the law. Stopping at a donut shop, he craned his neck to look out into the street where a well-dressed, dark man approached his street, tucking his wand in the sleeve of his Armani suit. Walking toward the man, Harry stopped when the man raised his gaze to look up from the piece of paper he was reading and Harry came face to face with Blaise Zabini.

_What is he doing here?_ Harry thought, stepping forward and inhaling Blaise’s clean scent. He followed close behind him, thankful for their direction being upwind, doing his best not to reach out and touch the fine linen that enveloped the tall, muscular frame. He’d memorized that body with fingers and tongue and his body reacted immediately to his proximity. As they rounded the next corner, Harry heard Blaise’s name being called from behind them, a soft woman’s voice. He stepped aside just in time for Blaise to turn around and envelop the woman in a tight hug, kissing her cheek as he did so. Harry’s insides turned and his heart hammered against his chest. Blaise wasn’t straight. Harry knew just how bent Blaise could be and at no point did it include a woman.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, luv," Blaise said warmly.

"Trouble at home?" she asked and Harry felt like clawing her eyes out at the condescending tone.

"Of course not," he replied. "We need to talk," he added sternly.

"Come into my office then," she said waving him inside a darkened office building. Harry stepped back as he watched Blaise escort his lady friend inside, his large hand at the base of her slender back. When Blaise looked around to see if anyone was watching, Harry stepped back and turned around, fist in his mouth, trying to catch his breath. When he faced the building again, he gasped loudly as it had completely disappeared. The office was under a Fidelius, which meant the ordinary-looking dark Muggle woman, was a witch and had Blaise as a Secret Keeper.

~*~

Harry burst through the door to Ron’s flat, panting heavily making Ron jump to his feet, wand raised and pointed at ‘the intruder.’

"Harry, what the hell? I could’ve hexed you!"

"You’re… too… slow," Harry panted, doubling over and pressing at a stitch in his side with his thumb. He took the water Ron offered him and emptied the glass in three gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Have to… saw some… found out…"

"For god’s sake Ron, get him some water!"

Ron winced as Harry’s head snapped up and found Hermione kneeling on the sofa, her wand at her side. He looked to Ron who shrugged his shoulders and handed him another glass.

"She arrived early," he said.

"Really," Harry glared.

"Sorry about that, but after checking the weather reports for this evening, I didn’t want to chance arriving in the middle of a rainstorm so I took an earlier (P)ortkey," Hermione explained as she walked around the sofa and tucked her wand in her back pocket. When she went to hug Harry, he backed away and took another drink, his eyes not meeting hers, Ron noted.

"Sorry, I’m all sweaty," he apologized.

"Oh please," Hermione chided him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. "I’ve had much more sweaty hugs from you, or have you forgotten all of your Quidditch matches?"

"Different kind of sweat," Harry said smiling slightly. "It’s good to see you, Hermione."

"It’s good to see you too, Harry," she said taking his glass and refilling it in the sink before handing it to him. She opened a cupboard and took a glass down then grabbed a pitcher of pumpkin juice from the icebox and served herself a glass before walking back to the sofa. Harry watched her as Ron watched Harry.

"The heat in Cairo is so dry that no matter how much water you drink, you stay parched for hours! I’ve missed pumpkin juice," she said sitting down barefoot on the sofa.

"So," Ron cut in, "what happened? You were telling me about the dig." He met Harry’s gaze and sat down on the coffee table across from Hermione.

"Oh, right. Harry, come sit with us," she called over her shoulder to him, patting the seat beside her.

"Why was the dig cancelled?" Ron asked. "I thought the funding had been guaranteed."

"It was," she said smiling warmly at Harry as he sat beside her. "Bill assured me the dig would be fully funded by Gringotts and he couldn’t believe they’d backed out of it."

"Why did they fund it in the first place?" Harry asked.

"They believe there’s a wizarding fortune in the tomb of some dead Egyptian pharaoh," Ron answered.

"You were paying attention, Ronald!" Hermione said with a smile reaching out to squeeze his hand. Ron smiled then pulled his hand away when he caught Harry’s gaze, clearing his throat in the process.

"Which reminds me, I’ve got presents for you!" she pulled two small boxes from her jean pocket and handed one to each. The boxes enlarged when the boys took them. "Well, open them!"

"What is it?" Ron said looking at the box. "I hope it’s not underwear," he said with a grin then laughed when she slapped his knee. After enlarging the boxes, the boys found small pendants inside. The stones inside them, Hermione said, were believed to help with relaxation and sleep.

"I’m not a firm believer of the mysticism behind them but to receive these from a tribe leader is extremely rare. Anyway," Hermione turned toward Harry, "what were you going on about when you came in? Is everything okay?"

"I ran into Blaise," Harry said looking at Ron who stood so fast, the coffee table turned over.

"You what? Harry, what the hell were you doing chasing after him?"

"I wasn’t chasing him!" Harry growled. "I literally ran into him," Harry mumbled. He looked up to meet Ron’s gaze, turning the pendant in his hand over and over. He explained what he saw, including the woman he warmly greeted and, Ron noted, made Harry’s skin crawl.

"So he’s a Secret Keeper to this business then?" Ron said sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Harry.

"It’s a real estate agency," Harry said, appearing to remember the name on the building door. "Where’s the parchment from Lieu," Harry asked quickly.

"Here," Ron said digging it out of his pocket and handing it warily to Harry who paled as he read its contents. "What’s going on, Harry?"

"This is the company," Harry whispered. "He’s the Secret Keeper to the real estate agency that owns the house…"

"The Crup?" Ron asked, realization dawning quickly.

Harry nodded, still staring at the parchment. "I need to shower," he said dropping the parchment and walking toward Ron’s bathroom numbly.

~*~

When he was out of earshot, Hermione turned to Ron and slapped his knee.

"Why didn’t you tell him?" she hissed.

"About us?" Ron grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… I don’t know, I… I guess I just never found the right time and with this case…"

"If Lieutenant Randle finds out that Zabini could be involved in your investigation, he might put a stop to you and Harry chasing after him," Hermione said worrying her bottom lip. "You can’t let Harry tell your boss just yet. Find out if Zabini is really involved or you’ll get pulled from the investigation." Ron merely nodded.

"He’s going to leave, Hermione," Ron spoke to the ground after a long silence. "He’s going to go back to that bastard, I know it." He punched the ground and drew his knees to his chest.

"You don’t know that," Hermione said sliding down off the sofa to sit cross-legged across from him on the floor.

"Yes, I do. You saw the way he talked about him. He’s still in love with the asshole and it doesn’t matter how many times I rearrange the bastard’s face, or how many times I try to prove to him that I love him, he still wants HIM!" Ron’s chest was heaving as he nearly shouted the last word.

"Then you need to protect him," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"I’ve tried that! Weren’t you listening?"

"You’ve defended him, and you’ve tried to save him, but you’ve not protected him. You need to keep him from continuing down a destructive path," Hermione replied, reaching out to touch his hand. "You have to save him from himself."

"And how do I do that when he doesn’t want to be saved, Hermione?" Ron stood quickly and summoned a butterbeer from the icebox. Unscrewing the top, he brought the bottle to his lips as Hermione whispered something. "What are you mumbling about?"

"You can bind him to this flat," she said standing and whirling around to face him. "Hear me out before you completely hex the idea. There are ways to bind magical objects to a wizard, like a wand, a quill, even a diary," she continued excitedly. "You can bind him to this flat and he’ll always have to return to it."

"How would it work, exactly?" Ron asked listening for the running water in his shower. When he could still hear it, he crossed over to Hermione and whispered. "And can we cast it now?"

"Of course," Hermione replied with a smile, drawing her wand from her back pocket.

The wandwork was easy, but the spell would only break if the object the wizard was bound to no longer existed or the caster removed the spell. So, as long as Ron didn’t blow up his flat, Hermione pointed out, then the spell would remain in tact.

"I’m going to go," Hermione said standing on tip-toe to kiss Ron’s cheek. "If you don’t tell him by the time you’re back, I will." She smiled as she slipped her feet into her shoes and headed for the fireplace, taking the floo powder pot in both hands.

"Would you?" Ron pled. "I… what if he’s just not…"

"That into you?" Harry said from the door with a grin, towel-drying his hair, wearing only a pair of jeans, still unbuttoned, Ron noticed. The gold nipple rings glinting against his pale skin. "What’s going on? You leaving?"

"Going to visit with Ginny," Hermione said, pinching Ron’s arm as she walked past him toward Harry. _He must have been staring at Harry, bugger!_

Harry nodded quietly and turned to Ron. "I was thinking, I should go check the bathhouse before we go to Kent. I should get in there tonight."

"Why tonight?" Hermione asked.

"High-rollers usually check into the rooms after eight," Ron said matter-of-factly.

Harry’s head whipped around to look at Ron who quickly averted his gaze. "Right… and they do a lot of their talking while…"

"Well… yeah…" Ron answered, his ears and neck growing hot. "But you’re not going in there alone, mate."

"What, you’d go into a bathhouse with me?"

Ron shrugged and shuffled toward his room, pausing at the door, "Nothing there I haven’t seen before."

~*~

"Is he serious?" Harry asked Hermione, his eyebrows disappearing into the fringe of his hair.

"Well, he’s an Auror," Hermione said with a shrug. "I’m sure he’s seen his fair share of whatever goes on in those places."

"It’s a sex place, Hermione. For men," he emphasized. "With other men."

She blushed, looking away from him and Harry instantly felt like an arse for saying something so insensitive. He knew Ron didn’t have a clue what bathhouses were and he was just trying to keep Harry safe as his partner, but…

"I’m sorry, Hermione. I’ve been on edge lately," he said rubbing the back of his neck.

"I know," she said quietly. "You know, I’m here if you ever need to talk."

Harry nodded and was about to say that he’d take her up on the offer at some point, when Ron stepped out of the room, duffel in hand and threw a t-shirt at him.

"We better get going," he said to Harry then sat on the sofa to tie his shoes. "I couldn’t find one of yours, so I shrunk one of mine."

"Right," Harry said summoning his shoes and socks before slipping the shirt over his wet head. The shirt was still too loose so he shrunk it another two sizes, making sure his nipple ring was evident through the black fabric, then slipped on his socks and shoes while Hermione stepped into the fireplace.

As Hermione shouted "Ginny Weasley" the boys stood and summoned their duffel bags.

"You know where the bathhouse is?" Harry asked Ron.

"Yeah," Ron quipped. "Apparate to the warehouse three blocks down to avoid being seen," he said before Disapparating. Harry wondered for a moment how Ron knew and decided that if the redhead made it through the night; he would make sure to get his answers.


	6. Ship of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you tqpannie, tjwritter, redblaze, brumeux77, thrihyrne and wolfiekins for being the amazing comma nazis, grammar gurus and characterization betas you are. :)

The bathhouse in Kent was one of the more posh gay "clubs" in the London area. The building looked like many of the sports clubs with a large lobby, a seating area, a telly in the corner and Muggle pop music playing through the speakers. The strong smell of chlorine and eucalyptus permeated the air. The lobby was empty except for a heavily tattooed man sitting behind a long counter. His white wife-beater gleamed against the olive complexion and stretched tight across a wide, sculpted chest. He was reading a magazine, his long, jean-clad legs perched on the counter, black biker boots completing the outfit. His black, spiky hair was long in the front, the bangs obscuring his eyes. Harry could see one eyebrow piercing and flesh tunnels in both ears.

As they approached the front desk, their duffel bags in hand, the clerk glanced up and gave Ron an appraising look, then turned to talk to Harry. "Welcome gentlemen. One cabin or two?"

"Two," Harry said as Ron said "One" and they shared a look before turning to answer the clerk. "Better make it one," Harry said with a flirty smile. "Or he'll have my hide."

"If he doesn't, can I?" the clerk asked with a wink. "Identification please and method of payment."

Harry handed over his driver's license and gold credit card before turning and leaning into Ron. Harry smirked as he laid his hand on Ron's chest. "Okay if I pay, _honey_?" Harry's eyebrow rose as he looked up at Ron. If Ron was **really** going through with this, Harry was going to have his fun.

Stepping against Harry, Ron took his chin and leaned in, their lips almost touching. "If you're a good boy, I'll make you pay again later," he whispered and Harry swallowed hard against the hammering pulse in his throat and his eyes widened as he looked into Ron's eyes. The heat in that sapphire gaze was enough to make his legs weak and his brain forget they were technically undercover.

When the clerk cleared his throat, Harry quickly turned to put some distance between him and Ron. Signing the receipt, he grabbed the key to the cabin without meeting the clerk's curious gaze. He didn't bother to wait for Ron as he made towards the door leading to the cabin they had rented.

~*~

"The main pool and sauna are open, Ron," the clerk said to Ron as he watched Harry escape through the dark glass-paned doors. "It is Ron, right?"

Ron turned and smiled at the man, then shook his hand. "Stephen, right?"

"It's been a while," Stephen said smiling, squeezing Ron's hand before sliding his callused hand away. "First time I've seen you come in with someone," he said, turning to look at the door Harry had just disappeared through.

Shrugging, Ron draped his duffel bag over his shoulder and made for the door feeling grateful that Stephen hadn't acknowledged him when he walked in with Harry.

"Main sauna at one?"

"I'll take a pass this time," Ron grinned. "Any regulars tonight?"

"You know I can't tell you that, hon. But… I could be persuaded," Stephen said, walking around the desk to stand between Ron and the door, "I take my dinner break at one… in sauna three." He slid his hand into Ron's pocket, tucking a key inside and let his fingers linger across Ron's crotch. At last Stephen stepped aside and let Ron push open the door. Stephen had been a poor substitute for Harry when Ron was still trying to find himself. Though the sex was brilliant, Ron wanted more… just not with Stephen.

Ron walked through the maze of corridors on autopilot toward the cabin he and Harry would share. How was he going to tell Harry about his feelings? He had to figure out how to come out to his best mate first. He figured being in a bathhouse should help with that one. He'd frequented this particular bathhouse enough to be considered a regular not too long ago and if Stephen still remembered him there was a good probability another of his regular playmates would remember him as well. If he wanted one of his regulars to see him, he would have to head for the main sauna with Harry then just let nature take its course.

The bathhouse patrons called the rooms "cabins" because the doors were wooden. In reality, they were just small rooms with an en suite, a small exam-table-looking bed in the center of the room and a large two-way mirror that took up most of one wall. Their cabin door was open and he found Harry wearing only a towel, sitting on the tiny exam style bed, staring at the huge two way mirror that dominated one wall of the rather barren room.

"Get lost on the way?" Harry asked, swinging his legs.

"Not really," Ron replied, throwing his duffel in the corner. "The main pool and sauna are open," he said walking into the en suite to change. "I figure we can start at the main sauna," he added as he toed off his shoes and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Unzipping his jeans, he bent to remove his socks and called out to Harry.

When he didn't get a response, he poked his head into the room and found Harry still sitting on the bed, staring at his own legs as he swung them back and forth.

"Harry?"

"How did you know?" Harry asked, not looking at him.

Ron slid his jeans and boxers down. Grabbing a towel off the rack beside the shower, he wrapped it around his hips and stepped into the room. "The desk clerk told me," he replied. "You okay mate?" He dipped his head as he approached Harry to try and meet his gaze and nearly jumped back when Harry snapped his head up and smirked.

"I'm fine," he said, but Ron knew better. Jumping off the bed, Harry walked to the open door of the cabin. "Divide and conquer?" he asked over his shoulder, winking as he stepped into the corridor.

"I s'pose," Ron said following him out and closing the door behind him.

~*~

Finding the main sauna and pool were rather easy thanks to the signage around the corridors and the rising heat as they maneuvered their way quietly through bathhouse. Harry could hear Ron's bare footsteps behind him but he was growing more and more conflicted with each passing minute in his best friend's presence. He had seen the clerk shake hands with Ron after calling him by name. Ron had been here before and by the sound of it, it had been recent. No alias, this man knew Ron but Ron still referred to him as the clerk. Had Ron been stepping out on Hermione all of this time? He'd kill him if he hurt Hermione that way. But wasn't he hurting Hermione by kissing her boyfriend and seducing him? They hadn't fucked but Harry knew it was just a matter of time. The longer he stayed in their flat, the worse it would be. If Ron was gay, _and that was a BIG if_, Harry did not want to be the man that came between his best friends.

Opening the door to the giant sauna, Harry waved through the steam and banished his eyeglasses as he sat next to a slim, dark-skinned man. He heard Ron walk in behind him but didn't feel him beside him and figured he had gone to another section of the sauna. _Divide and conquer, remember?_ Nodding at the man beside him, he sat back, spread his legs slightly and sighed heavily. Seconds later, the man beside him leaned back as well, his head turned toward Harry. _Game on!_

~*~

Ron watched as Harry sat beside the tall guy and he tried not to growl as he sat heavily across from them. The steam was thick in the lower level of the large sauna room, effectively obscuring his view. He shifted himself to the higher bench, hoping the motion appeared natural as opposed to calculated. The man next to Harry was chatting him up, the fact that he had an uncanny resemblance to Zabini did not escape Ron's notice and sighing heavily he decided to scan the room and concentrate on the job and not… well… the job. The room was surprisingly empty. Apart from Harry and the man next to him, there were three other men in the room, one had a towel over his head, another was scanning the room, his towel open, legs spread in invitation and his gaze fixed on Ron. The other man, Ron realized, was sitting beside the man with the towel over his head and was watching the room curiously. Apart from their figures, Ron could not discern much more unless he got closer.

_No time like the present!_

Opening his towel, Ron leaned back, stretched one leg out and spread his legs, rolling his head around his neck to work out the kinks and surreptitiously look around the room. His eyes settled once more on Harry who was currently having his belly rubbed by the groping fiend.

"Friend of yours?" someone asked to his left.

"Hmm?" Ron asked leaning toward the voice.

"Saw you two walk into the club together," the faceless voice replied. "Friend of yours?" he asked again.

"You could say that," Ron said waving the steam in front of his face away. The man sitting beside him was the one whose gaze he'd caught as he scanned the room earlier. "You here with anyone?" Ron made it a point to look the man up and down as he reclined on his elbows.

"Not at the moment," the man replied running the back of his knuckles against Ron's. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Ron grimaced and gave him a sheepish shrug. "Sorry, no."

"Can't say I'd remember me either but you're not one many forget."

Ron flushed and coughed before sitting up.

"It's not every day you see a ginger like you in here, much less one as… formidable as you."

The man continued sitting up to mimic Ron's stance and sliding closer. Their knees bumped together and Ron took a moment to really look at the man beside him. Slight build, swimmer's body Hermione would say, long legs, brunet with dark brown eyes and chiseled features.

"I'm sorry," Ron repeated. "I'm terrible with names," he lied.

"Bastian," the man replied.

Ron wracked his brain trying to remember this man whose hand was now running up the side of Ron's leg, stroking and caressing the sweat-dampened skin with strong strokes. A gust of cool air brought Ron's attention to the door and as it swung closed, Ron noticed Harry and "The Dark Groper" were gone.

_Shit!_

"Will you excuse me a moment?" Ron asked as he stood. Tying the towel quickly around his waist, he made his way out of the sauna. There were several chill out rooms around the main sauna. Each sported a number over a large oval viewing window in the door that let the voyeurs enjoy the show without interrupting the participants inside. While the rooms were listed as chill out rooms, they were really dry heat saunas with no steam. The temperature was not as stifling as the main sauna but the rooms were still very warm. Peeking into every window, Ron made his way around the rooms and cursed Harry's ability to turn his insides to knots with worry.

"Looking to play?" a familiar voice asked from behind him and whirling around, Ron nearly fell as he slipped on the wet floor. "Careful!" Stephen said, reaching out to steady Ron.

"Thanks." Ron adjusted his towel before running his fingers through his hair. "Dinner break already?"

"Decided to take the night off," Stephen answered while taking a towel from one of the many shelves along the walls and throwing it on the floor at Ron's feet. Kneeling at his feet, he started drying off the floor and Ron had to swallow several times as he tried not to let the submissive position rile his libido. He needed to find Harry. That's what he was doing and he was not going to be distracted. That's when Stephen took the opportunity to raise his gaze and meet Ron's before standing in front of him. His hand brushed against Ron's towel-clad cock and licking his lips he stepped against Ron.

"I didn't give you permission," Ron growled, seizing Stephen's wrist. Hearing Harry's muffled moan in the room behind him, Ron pulled Stephen toward him, twisting the wrist in his hold behind the shorter man's back. "Can you behave?"

Stephen swallowed several times and nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Ron's.

Pulling Stephen into the room where Harry and The Dark Groper had gone, he sat across from them and pushed Stephen to his knees between his spread legs. Opening his towel, he threaded his fingers through Stephen's spiky hair and pulled him toward his hardening length.

~*~

Harry watched Ron walk in with the twink from the front desk and turned back quickly to Marc, the man whose long fingers were currently wrapped around his dick, pumping him in long, slow strokes. When Ron opened his towel and pulled the kid to his thick cock, Harry gasped. _What the… _

Marc must have followed Harry's gaze because he stopped his strokes and turned Harry's face toward him. "Enjoying the show?"

"I am, yes." Harry licked Marc's bottom lip before sucking on it.

"Want to give them a show of our own?" Marc asked pushing Harry down to his knees. Opening Marc's towel, Harry took Marc's prick in his hand and licking the head, he rolled his eyes up to meet the man's dark gaze. He tried not to think about Ron watching him. Tried not to focus on the twink's slurping sounds from across the room. The sound of someone going down on Ron's magnificent dick. He tried desperately not to wish he was the one with Ron's cock buried in his throat. More than all of the questions swirling in his head, he was trying NOT to question Ron's sexuality. Ron was his best mate, they were undercover, and Ron didn't seem to be having trouble keeping his head on the job. His mind reeling, Harry kept repeating over and over in his head—_My best mate is straight and you need to focus on the job at hand_.

Harry realized he must have zoned out because suddenly his face was pushed against Marc's groin and his throat was stuffed with thick, hard cock. He tried swallowing around the length to let Marc know he was ready for this but couldn't pull his head back enough to keep from gagging.

Blaise had trained him to deep-throat while bound and this was no different, but Marc had taken him by surprise. He pulled back again, pushing against Marc's hand and was rewarded with a guttural groan and the ability to move. As he attempted to wrap his hands around the base of Marc's cock to prevent it from happening again, Marc yanked on his hair and pulled him off his prick.

"Keep your hands behind your back and take it all," he hissed, forcing Harry back down onto his spit-slicked cock and shoving it deep down his throat again. "Yesss, take it all."

Harry could hear the twink behind him humming and slurping on Ron's dick, and Marc's grunts as he slowly thrust in and out of Harry's mouth but Ron was completely silent. _You're a shit friend, Potter. You know he's straight. You know he's probably thinking of Hermione to keep the ruse up and all you have to do is get this guy to blow his load and get out of here so Ron can get back home too. Instead, you're… you're choking… _

~*~

Ron heard Harry gag and his eyes snapped up from watching Stephen slide his lips up and down his cock to The Dark Groper and Harry across the room. He found Harry on his knees with a mouth full of cock, hands behind his back and a crazed look on the man's face as he pumped his hips faster. Harry gagged again and the man shoved his groin against Harry's face, suffocating him in the process. Ron had played rough with a few submissive men in his past but never took it as rough as this guy was doing. Unless they'd wanted it that way. And it was clear to him that Harry definitely _didn't_ want it that way.

Keeping a hand on the back of Stephen's head, he adjusted himself on the bench to get a better view of Harry's face. It was very plausible that his mind was playing tricks on him and he was going to be levelheaded about this, if it killed him. Even if it IS Harry… who's gagging again… and trying to lift his head… but can't. The twat was choking Harry!

Pushing Stephen off of his cock, Ron practically leaped across the room and yanked Harry off the bastard with one hand and connected a bone-crushing punch with the other. _Level-headedness could kiss his arse at that moment! Harry was in trouble!_ Fists flew toward him as The Dark Groper attempted to swing one-handed, the other covering the eye that Ron had smashed but none connected as Ron ducked to reach for Harry on the floor.

"Harry!" Ron bent over his best mate and tried to help him sit up as Harry took huge gulps of air. His face was red and when he bent over to cough, Ron grabbed him round the middle and helped him stand, shoving The Dark Groper back as he tried once more to hit Ron.

"Is he all right?" Stephen asked and Ron was startled to find him standing next to him.

"He'd better be," Ron growled at The Dark Groper and leaned into the now cowering man. "What the fuck where you thinking?"

"Ron?" Harry groaned hoarsely. "What are you…"

"Let's go," Ron said, pulling Harry out of the room then dragged him back to their cabin. As the door of the cabin closed, Ron summoned his wand from his duffel and Apparated them back to his flat.

Setting Harry on the sofa, he ran into the kitchen and set a kettle to make tea. His stomach clenched when he found Harry doubled over visibly trying to slow his breathing.

"You all right, mate?"

"I'm fine," Harry answered curtly. "What the hell… were you thinking?"

"Me?" Ron asked sitting next to Harry. "That bastard was suffocating you, Harry!"

"I had it under control, it was nothing. We need to get back there and…"

"Have you gone mad?" Ron shouted.

"We were on a case, Ron! I don't know about you, but apart from Marc's cock size, I didn't gather much more information. Did you?"

"Marc? Is that the bastard's name? It didn't look like you were going to get much out of him when he left you dead on the floor of the chill out room." He stood and walked to the kitchen as the kettle whistled.

"Oh, because the twink wrapped around your dick was going to give you any more info than Marc would have?"

Ron smirked and shook his head as he poured the water into the teacups and set the kettle back on the stove. _Sounds like little Harry's jealous._

"What are you smirking about?"

"Nothing." Ron shrugged, crossing his arms as he turned to look at Harry, realizing for the first time since they'd Apparated into the flatƒ that they were both naked. "Do you even know who 'Marc'," he said using air-quotes like Hermione liked to use on him when they would get into their rows, "was or what he did for a living?"

"I would have, had you not gone in and beaten him to a pulp!"

"He wasn't beaten to a pulp. He'll have a black eye for a few days. He'll live." He tested his tea before levitating Harry's cup to him. "Drink that, it'll help your throat."

"Stop telling me what to do," Harry huffed before taking the cup and setting it down on the end table. "You're not my mother," he said taking a step toward Ron. "You're not my guardian and you're not my husband," he continued, walking toward Ron as he spoke, the air around him sizzling with the uncontrolled magic around him. _Good! It was about time the old Harry started showing his face._ "So leave me the fuck alone!"

""Are you done?" Ron said setting the cup in the sink slowly, trying to keep his breathing normal against the air thickening as Harry got closer. "We have to figure out another way to get…" All of the air escaped Ron's lungs and he suddenly felt like he was in a vacuum. When he looked at Harry, he realized that Harry had tried to leave him. He'd tried to Apparate.

"What the…" Harry started.

"It's been a long night, Harry. Can we not have this row now?" Ron walked toward the bedroom with great effort. Harry's magic was spilling out of him like a running faucet and it made the air dense.

"What the fuck did you DO?" Harry screamed from the corridor and Ron was suddenly thrown against the far wall. He tried to summon his wand but he wasn't fast enough. Harry's magic had him pinned to the wall. "Why the fuck can't I Apparate?"

He tried to speak, he really did, but the air had grown so thick, he could barely make an audible sound.

Harry must have realized what he was doing because his eyes widened, then he spun around allowing Ron to breathe again. Ron should have known Harry would not let this go, that being released wasn't the end of this _particular_ row. Ron took a deep breath as he walked into his bedroom. There was a loud crack and his mattress exploded, stuffing and cotton flew around the room, coating every bit of furniture, and he spun on his heel to find Harry at the door. Harry's wand shook slightly in his hand but he leveled it at Ron, "Let me out of here, Ron!"

"Can't," was all Ron said as he walked past Harry into Harry's room. "I didn't like that bed anyway. Too lumpy. I'll just take yours." Summoning his wand, he levitated some blankets and pillows from the linen cupboard and stripped Harry's bed of the sheets. Throwing them on the floor, he flicked his wand and had his sheets cover the mattress then turned the wand on Harry. "_Accio_ Harry!"

He didn't expect it to work, but when Harry's very naked, very hard body slapped against his, he grinned. "Are you done? I'd like to get to bed," he said.

"What are you doing, Ron?" Harry asked nervously.

"Going to bed. What does it look like?" Ron said, sliding under the covers. Holding them open, he called Harry over. "Come on. We can talk in the morning."

He didn't expect Harry to join him, but when Harry's very naked, very warm body slid in next to his, Ron felt like his heart was going to explode as spectacularly as his mattress had done.


End file.
